


proud of you, mija

by thefudge



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 3x03, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Incest, but not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 15:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16431941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: Based on 3x03. "Come here, let me show you just how proud I am."





	proud of you, mija

**Author's Note:**

> i have no shame. none whatsoever.

"When you were born, I thought I wouldn't need anything else in the world. I had _you_. And you were everything I ever wanted. My little heiress." 

Veronica pretends not to listen. She touches up her mascara, staring at her own reflection. 

"I should have been content with that. But I wasn't. I wanted you to inherit more than my name, _more_ than my fortune. I wanted the whole world to be yours."

Hiram's voice is as slippery as the perfumed oil she dabs under her ears. She has heard this speech before, or she thinks she has. It's always the same.

_I never wanted power for myself, I wanted it for you._

Veronica bites into a napkin to wipe some of the lipstick off. She wishes he had the balls to admit she was only ever an excuse for him to indulge in what he knows best. 

Hiram stands in her doorway, expecting a reaction, expecting her to be bowled over, no doubt.

She inhales the polluted air he radiates and looks up at him with a sweet smile. "Thank you, Daddy. You've already given me the world. Now you need to get out of it."

Hiram's jaw ticks imperceptibly. He stares at her indomitable profile, the dark contours of her face, the swoop of her bare shoulders.

"That is a lovely dress, Veronica." 

 

 

He can't help but smile when she blackmails him. She just waltzes in, carrying incriminating photos and demanding 10 grand a month, all while carrying her schoolbag over her shoulder. 

She's grown to be formidable - still naive, but formidable. 

He wonders how she got her hands on those photos, what she had to do, whom she had to convince. She couldn't have infiltrated the Wyrm's basement on her own. 

She has a talent for making friends of her enemies, whereas he's always been good at turning allies into foes. Both skills come in handy sometimes. What she doesn't understand yet is that you _do_ need enemies in this life. You need them like you need sustenance. 

Veronica presses her manicured fingers against his desk, leans over triumphantly, tells him she's the one making the rules now. 

Her eyes stray to the portrait he still keeps above his head. His little heiress. 

He can see it affects her. It must rankle, seeing herself pinned up against the wall like that. But he wants to hurt her a little bit, wants her to lean a little closer, so he can teach her a lesson. 

 

 

"A dance for your old man, mija?" 

Veronica glances left and right, as if expecting someone to come rescue her. But he made sure Archie Andrews could not reach his daughter anymore.

Veronica domesticates her animosity. She smiles like the ice in his glass.

"Of course, Daddy." 

He places his arm on the small of her back, his thumb grazing bare skin. Veronica curls her fingers around the collar of his suit as he moves forward and they begin to waltz. He has not held her this close in months. He has missed her quixotic energy, always laced with patrimonial pragmatism. No matter how much she clings to this town, she is _his_ daughter. She would burn it to the ground, if she had to.

Veronica tries not to enjoy herself, but it's hard. He knows all the boys she has dallied with cannot waltz the way he does, and he knows she knows it too. 

They keep dancing even when a new song comes on. They don't look at each other directly. There is always a smoky veil between them. 

"The Speakeasy is a success. I am glad I was here to witness it."

Veronica buries a laugh in her throat. "Or maybe you only came to deliver me the portrait. To tell me you moved out of the Wyrm." 

"Well...a good entrepreneur can do both, can't he?" 

His daughter lets a smile slip, a genuine one. She can't help it. They understand each other, in some obscure way. 

 

 

"I know I have an unorthodox way of showing it, but I'm proud of you, mija." 

"Even as I go against you?"

Hiram grins like a tamed wolf.  " _Especially_   when you go against me." 

She could get addicted to this feeling. She could eat it up.

"Come here, let me show you just how proud I am." 

Veronica circumvents his desk. She walks up to him, looms over his chair as her father adjusts his tie with a half-smile. 

 "Closer," he beckons, hooking his thumb in the seams of her skirt. His hands skim the rhinestone fabric - almost like he's assessing her- and settle on her hips, drawing her forward.  

"You've grown into a fine young woman, Veronica, but you're still my little girl, deep down," he rasps, and he deftly lifts her hips and settles her down on his desk. 

Veronica loses her breath for a moment. She spreads her legs, skirt riding up her thighs. Hiram follows her movements with the same half-smile, but his eyes burn like a stoked fire.  

"Isn't that right? Aren't you my little girl?" 

"Yes, Daddy," she replies, licking her lips, wishing she weren't thirsty, wishing she didn't have a need. 

"My little girl needs special attention," he continues, reading her mind. He rises from the chair. His hands grip her bare knees. He draws her legs around his waist. 

"No one else deserves to touch you. Certainly not that delinquent boy. I made _sure_ of that."  

The mention of Archie doesn't even bother her, not when his hands are steadily climbing up her thighs. 

It doesn't take him long to drag her underwear down to her knees. 

His mouth is hot and cold against her jaw. 

"Say it, Veronica. Who deserves to touch you?"

Veronica sighs, tipping her head back.  

 "Only you, Daddy."

She knows this isn't real because her lacquered portrait still hangs above their heads.

 

 

Veronica starts up in bed. 

She breathes harshly, takes big gulps, expels them. 

She is soaked. Everything clings to her skin, even his mouth. Her father's wicked mouth. 

 

 

(he is nursing his drink in a shaded corner, watching her welcome her guests, taking skillful control of the world he has prepared for her.

from time to time, her eyes stray to him. she can't help it. 

she winks at him. _This is how it's done, Daddy._

he raises his drink to her. raises it in her name. 

Veronica blushes, stands in the middle of the dance floor, almost beckoning him. so of course, he gets up to follow her.

his little girl - his little heiress. how he wants to kill her sometimes. he wants to twist that pretty neck and hold her body until it gets cold. and then, he wants to revive it. he wants to pump her heart with blood. he wants to be the one to bring her back to life.

when she opens her eyes, he will be there, wiping the bile from her lips, kissing her forehead, blessing her. 

sometimes, he wants to take her ghost to bed. sometimes he wants to give birth to her.  

she will never understand what it's like to be a father, to crave your daughter's happiness, while craving her.

"proud of you, mija," he whispers against her ear as they dance.)

 


End file.
